Guardian
by godtissumbrella
Summary: When Sherlock returned, John kept asking for Mycroft. Sherlock is surprised by this, so John tells him what happened when he was 'dead', and how he could have never coped without Mycroft. This story is rated M for angst, attempted suicide and depression. Please read and review. Now complete.
1. Chapter 1

**Guardian**

"Have you told Mycroft?"

Sherlock stared at John, confused.

"Is this really important right now?" he asked. "John, it's me. I'm back."

John nodded. His head was filled with mixed emotions. He was going mad. He knew it. But what if he wasn't? What if his best friend really was back from the dead? Mycroft had to know.

"Have you told Mycroft?" John repeated. "Does he know that you're alive?"

Sherlock shook his head. "It wasn't important that I told him."

John began to shake his head. "No." he kept muttering. Sherlock noticed that the shorter man was shaking.

"John, are you okay?" asked Sherlock worriedly.

"What do you bloody think?" shouted John. He pulled his phone out of his pocket. His shaking hands were making the phone difficult to hold.

"We, we have to tell Mycroft." John stuttered. He began to type a number into his phone but was shaking too much to press the right

buttons.

"John, I think you should sit down. I'll make you coffee. We don't need my brother here." Sherlock insisted.

"No Sherlock, I won't sit down! You can't just march in here and tell me what do after three years! You were dead! I thought you were dead."

John started crying. There wasn't many times in his life when Sherlock didn't know what to say. Watching John cry was like seeing a parent cry for the first time.

"I'm sorry." said Sherlock quietly. "You would have been killed if I hadn't have done what I did."

"I wish I had been. It would have been better than what I went through."

Sherlock swallowed. He told himself that John didn't mean that.

John wiped his tear covered face with his hands. "I want Mycroft here now."

Sherlock shook his head. "I don't want him here just yet. I need to spent tonight just..."

"I don't give a shit what you want, Sherlock! I've had to wait three years, thinking you were dead, so you better do this one thing for me and call your brother!" John shouted.

Sherlock nodded and reached for John's phone.

"I feel sick." said John quietly.

"Maybe you should get some rest. You look like..." Before he could finish, John's body hit the ground with a thud.

John opened his startled eyes. He was lying on his back next to the fireplace. Sherlock had put the Union Jack cushion under his bruised

head. There was a buzzing in his ears, not unlike the buzzing that plagued his head when Sherlock 'died.'

"Are you all right?" asked a voice from above.

"What?" began John.

"You passed out. Hit your head on the fire heath." explained Sherlock. "I called Mycroft. He's quite far away but is coming as quickly as he can.

John sat up slowly. Sherlock pulled him up and sat him down in an armchair.

"Feeling any better?" asked Sherlock.

"I don't feel sick any more." replied John. "But my head is throbbing."

Sherlock headed into the unusually tidy kitchen and returned with two cups of tea and some biscuits. He gave one cup and a biscuit to John. The sandy haired man took them gratefully.

When John had finished his third biscuit and had nearly finished his tea, Sherlock spoke.

"Why did you want Mycroft to be here so much?"

John looked up. "What do you mean?"

Sherlock looked away. "You really wanted him here. I saw how you were with him just after I jumped. What changed?"

John looked down. He didn't want to tell Sherlock, but he felt he should.

"After you 'died' I was very sad. I, things happened, and I'm glad he was there."

"What kind of things?" asked Sherlock.

John swallowed. "How long until Mycroft gets here?"

"He's in Scotland, and he's coming by car."

John put down his tea cup. "I'll go back to the beginning."

**Thanks for reading! This is the story of how John coped after Reichenbach, I do hope you enjoy! (I would like to point out that this story is not JohnCroft)**


	2. Chapter 2

**Guardian Chapter Two**

**-Three years earlier.-**

It was the day of the funeral. John had dressed in a black suit and tie. He had skipped breakfast that day. He didn't feel like eating.

John felt he had left too much of the funeral planning to Mrs Hudson and Greg. Mrs Hudson, John noticed, was beginning to look older. She always seemed so much more tired now. Greg also seemed different. He had been in a lot of trouble at work, and his marriage was falling apart. Every day his hair seemed to be becoming less silver, and more of a dull grey.

John felt awful for leaving them both to organize everything, but they'd just told him that everything was going to be fine. That they'd sort it.

John and Mrs Hudson arrived at the church early morning. Mrs Hudson had hoped it would be sunny. One last beautiful day for her beautiful boy. Sherlock wasn't really her son, but she loved him as if he were. Instead it was a bit misty.

They met Greg inside the church. His wife hadn't come. He'd been talking to the vicar about the service.

Two hours later people began to arrive at the church. John saw Molly turn up in a black dress, and Angelo in a suit. Greg walked over to John. "Are you okay?" he asked, putting his hand on the man's shoulder.

"Never better." said John frowning.

Greg tried to smile reassuringly. "It'll be okay. It will take time, but things will get better." John looked thankful.

"A man outside asked me to give you this." said Greg, handing John the envelope. It was lilac, and John's name was printed on the front. The sandy haired man opened it. He'd received a wave of sympathy cards over the last couple of days. He didn't expect this one to be any different.

On the inside of the card were the words: Sorry we couldn't make the funeral- Mrs Holmes

John put the card near the coffin. He'd never met Sherlock's parents. He hadn't expected them to even say anything. A card was better than nothing.

The service began. John sat in the front row pew, along with Greg and Mrs Hudson. Soft music played as an elderly vicar said some words. It wasn't a big turn out. There was a few people in the church whom Sherlock had helped over the years who had come to pay their respects, but not many people who actually knew him.

Halfway through the service the door to the church opened and Mycroft stepped in. The vicar stopped speaking for a moment.

"Apologies." said Mycroft quietly. "I was held up at work."

He sat down in the back row of pews away from everyone else. The vicar began speaking again, but John stood up stiffly. Anger was bubbling up inside him. Greg could see this, and stood up to try and calm John down.

The ex- army doctor marched over to the government 'official'

"Get out." he snarled through his teeth.

Mycroft looked surprised. "John, I..."

"I don't give a shit." interrupted John. He balled his hands into fists. "Get out." he ordered again.

By this time, the vicar had stopped speaking and the small number of people who had come to pay their respects were all facing the two of them. Lestrade stepped in. "Come on John, it's okay. He's just..."

"He killed him! It's his fault he's dead!" John shouted angrily. Greg stared at Mycroft in shock. "He told Moriarty all about Sherlock's life, and that gave Jim the power to kill him!" John continued.

"John please, just listen to me!" pleaded Mycroft as he rose to his feet. John shook his head. "Get out." he hissed. "Get out!"

Mycroft stood there confused and upset. He didn't want to leave. He needed to say goodbye to his baby brother. "Please John." he urged.

"Mycroft, I think you should go." said Greg quietly. He put a hand on the skinny man's shoulder and walked him out the door. Mycroft looked broken.

After the service, the small group of people made their way outside. The mist had cleared up a bit but there was a faint chill in the air. John could see his breath.

"Greg, I need to be alone for a bit." said John quietly. "I'll just be round the corner."

Greg nodded. "That's fine. Take as long as you need."

John inwardly cringed. Everyone had started to be so nice to him. People talked to him as if he were a child. He didn't think it was necessary. It wasn't him who had died, though as the days passed he was beginning to wish it was. He didn't tell anyone.

John walked around to the back of the church. In the distance he

could see a hole in the ground. It was strange to think that very soon his best friend would be in that hole, covered up forever.

To his left, John could hear footsteps. 'I asked Greg for some peace.' thought John slightly annoyed. To his surprise, a teary eyed Mycroft appeared at his side. The man's hair was oddly out of place. A ginger curl hung over his forehead. John's jaw tightened.

"I thought I told you to leave." hissed John angrily.

"I have to say goodbye. He's my baby brother."

Mycroft was barely holding it together. His lip was trembling and he was shaking. John didn't care.

"He's not your brother after what you did to him." John's hands clenched into fists.

"I didn't mean to. I'm sorry." pleaded Mycroft.

"Leave, Mycroft." instructed John viscously.

Mycroft just shook his head.

John couldn't stand to look at him any more. He punched the man in the face. They could both hear the sickening noise as Mycroft's nose broke.

"Fuck you!" shouted John.

The older man grabbed his nose and fell to his knees in pain. John kneed him in the eye and began to walk away.

Greg had heard John's shouts and came running. He found John walking away from an injured Mycroft.

* * *

"Here's another tissue." said Greg as he handed Mycroft a Kleenex to clean up the blood.

"Thanks." said Mycroft quietly.

They were both sitting on a bench outside the church. Everyone else had left except from the vicar, who was inside the church.

"I mean no disrespect, but why does John think that you killed your brother?" asked Greg.

Mycroft looked down. "It's because I did."

Greg looked shocked. Mycroft continued.

"I told Moriarty all about

Sherlock's life. I left some bits out, but I told him what he needed to know."

"Why?" asked Greg, his voice becoming raised.

Mycroft wiped more blood away. "To get a key code. It turns out that it didn't exist."

Greg began to look a bit sympathetic.

"But do you know why I'm angry at myself. I mean, really angry." asked Mycroft.

Greg shook his head.

"It's because I wasn't even that sure that the code really did exist. I gave Moriarty all these facts about my brother, thinking that there may or may not be a key code. And now he's dead." Mycroft began crying quietly.

Greg stood up. "I'm going." he said. "I don't want to hear any more from you."


	3. Chapter 3

**Guardian Chapter Three**

John finished unpacking the last box. His new flat was small and cramped. It was just what he could afford on an army pension. A feeling of emptiness washed over him as the realisation of how lonely

he was hit him. His knees gave way and he fell back on his bed. He lay on the uncomfortable mattress as tears fell from his eyes and the smell of baker street rose from the white sheets.

The next morning John went shopping. Into his basket he placed a small bag of apples, an economy pack of teabags, two pints of milk and a microwavable meal for one. He avoided the self service machines and headed for a check-out. A young blond girl served him with a smile. She was very pretty. If John had been feeling himself he would have tried to chat her up. As she scanned the milk, John opened his wallet and pulled out his card. He was about to slide it into the chip and pin machine when he saw the name on it. He welled up.

"Would you like a bag?"

John ignored her.

"I, I'm sorry." he stammered. "I can't do this."

He picked up his wallet and walked out of the supermarket. The young girl called after him. "Excuse me? You left your card!"

John had already exited the shop. The girl picked up the card. At the bottom was the name Mr S. Holmes.

* * *

John Watson was hungry. He regretted not buying the food, but regretted leaving the card even more. He didn't want to use the money, but it was a part of Sherlock's life that hadn't been taken by the police. He had a small fridge in his new flat, and in it was some turning milk and what looked like half an iceberg lettuce. John made himself a black coffee and logged into his laptop. He didn't really need much food nowadays anyway. Sherlock never ate much and the habit had rubbed off onto the shorter man.

John signed into his blog, remembered that he had stopped writing it and signed out again. He put the laptop back into his draw. His old army gun sat there as if in wait. He stared at it for a few seconds, then shut the draw again.

John sat at his desk. What did he do before he met Sherlock? He had his blog. Now what was he supposed to do? John checked his phone. There was one text from Greg asking how he was. He deleted it. He looked through his texts from Sherlock. There were hundreds of them. They weren't about anything in particular, but he didn't want to delete them. He checked his call history, and

scrolled down until he found the last call from Sherlock. He remembered nearly every word from it. As he felt a lump in his throat he went back to the home screen of his phone. The background photo was the cat falling off the shelf from the video he'd shown Sherlock all that time ago. It didn't seem fitting to have that as his phone background when he was feeling so empty. He went into his photo album on his phone. That wasn't a good idea. There was reminders everywhere about his time with Sherlock. There were many pictures of crime scenes and possible clues, but there were some pictures of Sherlock too. There was a picture of them both at Christmas. John was wearing a

ridiculous jumper that Mrs Hudson had made for him, and Sherlock was

wearing a pair of reindeer antlers. John appeared to be slightly drunk and they were arguing over a game of cludo that Greg had bought for them. He and Mrs Hudson were sitting behind the arguing pair laughing. The picture was taken by John's girlfriend at the time. It was before Molly had arrived. There were other pictures too. There was one of Sherlock wearing the deer-stalker and John beside him openly laughing. There was a video too. Lestrade had sent John the video of Sherlock

after he had been drugged out of his mind by Irene. The ex-army doctor laughed. He really missed his friend. He had lied to many people when he had said that they weren't in love. He did love Sherlock. He was his best friend and he had never wanted to lose him. Irene had said that they

were a couple. She was right, there was no denying it. Even if it wasn't sexual, he had had more of a relationship with Sherlock than he had had with any of his previous girlfriends. John set a picture of him and Sherlock as his phone background. In the picture the sandy haired man was grinning and pointing to a sign. Sherlock stood next to him looking completely unamused. The sign John was pointing to read 'Solar system exhibition this way.'


	4. Chapter 4

***Edit: I think I've fixed the spacing for this chapter. If you see a problem, please let me know***

* * *

"Sometimes I just feel that I can't go on. I can feel something all the time, deep down at the pit of my stomach, but sometimes it's worse, like another punch in the gut. And sometimes I feel, I feel like there's nothing left for me. And that's not a feeling that I want to deal with."

John's therapist nodded her head and made a note in her journal.

"Do you feel like there's a gap in your life, now that he's gone?" she asked, looking at him. She tried to see if he gave anything away that might tell her more about how he felt. He just looked blank.

"Yes. Yes I do. I don't like being in places on my own that I've visited with him. I don't even enjoy being with the people that I've met through him, and some of them are my best friends. Everything reminds me of him and I just can't deal with it any more." His voice began to raise "It's just not fair! What did I do? Why me? Of all the people who had to meet him, why me? I've done nothing wrong and I didn't want to lose him!" He was shouting now.

There was a flicker of fear in the therapist's eyes. "John, I need you to calm down." she said firmly. The ex-army doctor didn't stop shouting. "He's gone and no-one else cares! You all think he's a fake don't you? That's what you all think! You didn't believe me when I told you did you?"

"John, calm down now or I'm going to have to ask you to leave." the therapist ordered. This time the sandy haired man stopped shouting but instead broke into ugly sobs.

John sat in his flat. The day was just like all the others. Lonely, boring. No wonder Sherlock used to shoot at the wall. The sandy haired man felt embarrassed about what happened at the therapist's. He should have gotten used to being upset in front of people by now.

* * *

"So did you see the game last night?"

Greg and John were sitting in a pub one day after Greg had finished work. Greg wasn't allowed to work at Scotland Yard any more after what had happened, but he had found a job doing paperwork for a badly paid law firm. John seemed slightly surprised by his question.

"Um, no. Did you?"

Greg shook his head. "No I just thought you might have. I was thinking about watching but I had to stay late at work."

John tried to look interested, but it wasn't working. He missed Sherlock. Greg was a great guy, and could be really funny at times, but things weren't as good without Sherlock.

"How's your new job?" John asked. Greg sighed and drank a mouthful of beer.

"That bad?" questioned the younger man. Greg nodded.

"It's just so boring. I used to be out chasing murderers and hunting down kidnappers, catching the occasional criminal mastermind, and now I'm in an office. Doing bloody paperwork." He took another swig of his drink. "It's not as if the hours are any good either. It's nearly as bad as before, and I get nowhere near as much money!" John felt bad for his friend. He really wanted to be able to help him, but he knew he couldn't. "Are you coping though? After, Jenny left?" At first John wished he hadn't brought up his mate's ex-wife, but he really was concerned as to how Greg was. "I am coping. There's been some days when I thought it might have been easier to shoot myself, but if I still thought that now I'd have driven myself off a cliff. It's been a struggle to find somewhere else to live but I found a place that's fine. What about you? How are you coping?"

This is the point where John should have told him everything. He should have told Greg that he wasn't coping, the flat was just a bit too expensive to really afford. He should have told Greg that he wasn't happy any more, that it had been weeks since he had properly smiled and that he would sometimes start crying before he even properly realised why. He should have told Greg that whenever he opened his desk drawer he was met with the sight of a cold black gun waiting for him, and that he didn't really want his life to continue the way it was. But most of all, he should have told Greg that every night he prayed to be with Sherlock, and that he didn't care what it would cost any more.

He didn't.

"I'm fine." said the ex-army doctor, and he smiled a fake smile.

* * *

**AN: Thanks for the reviews! :)**


	5. Chapter 5

**Guardian chapter 5**

John and his therapist sat across from one another.

"How have you been since last week?" she asked. "You were upset last week I recall."

John smiled at her. "I'm great. Much better."

His therapist seemed surprised. "Really?" her voice raised in pitch at the end of the word. "Well, that's good to hear. Do you know why you're feeling better?" She asked slowly.

John shook his head. "It's just as if a weight has been lifted from my chest."

* * *

John had lied. He had been lying to a lot of people recently. Some people believed him, many didn't. He cancelled his therapy after that session. It hadn't been making any difference and it cost a lot of money. When he came back from Afghanistan it had been paid for him, but after he had cancelled the appointments the first time round they began to charge him.

Greg had been checking up on him, asking if he wanted to go out for a pint occasionally or turning up at his flat to make sure he was okay. It was just getting stupid. John felt like a burden and didn't think it was fair on the ex-detective. Mrs. Hudson had also been in touch. She'd been to stay with her sister for a couple of weeks. It turns out England didn't fall if she left Baker Street. In John's mind it had already fallen, along with his best friend.

Mycroft had tried to contact him in the way Mycroft does. John was coming back from shopping for tea and apples when the door of a large black shiny car opened beside him. He just walked away. The driver followed him all the way to John's flat but not once did the ex-army doctor stop. The British government had also hacked into John's phone. He'd been lying to his sister about how well he was doing when he was cut off and Mycroft Holmes started talking at him. John Watson simply hung up the phone and dropped it out of his window. That way Mycroft couldn't contact him.

He wished people would leave him alone. All he wanted was some peace, but that was a wish that wouldn't easily come true. He also wished he could be with Sherlock, thinking that there must be peace wherever his friend was. That was a wish that he knew how to make happen.

John had been thinking about death a lot recently, obviously. He had started by thinking about the death of his friend, but gradually his memory of that tragic day had distorted, and he saw himself falling from ST. Bart's. Before he went to sleep each night he would run through his head what might have happened if their places had been switched. He tried to picture his friend standing on the street as he gazed down on everyone walking past.

'Everyone must have looked so tiny.'

For countless nights that was his final thought before sleep stole him away.

It was a Thursday that pushed him to the brink. John had been out buying the usual necessities. Bread, apples, tea. He bought some paracetamols for his leg pain. He knew he shouldn't really take them, that they weren't doing anything, but they made him think he felt better. As he rounded the corner onto the street where his flat was, he knew something was wrong. He could see people peeping through their curtains, and there was an eerie silence across the whole neighborhood. It was only when he got closer that he saw why. He fell to his knees. His 'injured' knee felt as if it was throbbing with pain, but John didn't care. On the front door of his flat were the words "If he hadn't have done it someone else would have done it for him. Underneath that was the word 'FAKE' spray-painted in block capitals.

By the time John was inside, he had planned what he was going to do. He was going to see Sherlock.

* * *

The next morning he went to St. Bart's hospital. He told the receptionist that he was going to meet Mike. He often did. They talked about when they were at the hospital together. After a while it got boring. This morning however, he didn't go to Mike's room. Instead he headed up the stairs.

He was high up. He could feel his knee aching. He knew he should have taken the lift. It wouldn't matter soon.

There was no more stairs. He pushed open the door. It was quite heavy. As he did, cool air hit him in the face and he heard the sound of a busy London morning. John counted his steps as he walked across the roof of ST. Bart's. Using his cane, he managed to pull himself up onto a ledge at the side of the building. He could see the whole street now. He could see busses and cars and taxis, and people going about their day to day business not even realizing he was there. They all looked so tiny. He reached into his pocket for his phone. Once he had found it he went onto voice recorder, and he pressed record.

"I'm doing this so I can be with him. It's not because I don't love my family, or my friends. I just need... I need to be with him. He saved me, and I never thanked him. He wasn't a fake. I want everyone to know that. Sherlock Holmes was not a fake. And when I see him, I'm going to tell him. I'm going to tell him that I... Well, I'll tell him when I'm with him. Goodbye."

He pressed stop, and dropped his phone onto the roof. Then John faced forward, and he held his head high, just as he did at Sherlock's grave side. He raised his arms as if he were about to fly, mirroring his friend's actions. John Watson let himself fall forwards.

**AN: Thanks for all the lovely reviews! I've written the next chapter but that's all. I better get writing! Hope you enjoyed.**


	6. Chapter 6

**Guardian chapter 6**

Two pairs of strong hands caught him. They pulled him back onto the roof; and before John could protest, he was injected in the neck. Very quickly the ex-army doctor's body went limp and his consciousness was stolen away.

* * *

Everything was blurred. The shape of a face swam into view. John closed his eyes tight, and then opened them as wide as he could. The person in front of him began to speak.

"John, it's okay. You're going to be okay."

The voice was familiar. John blinked again. The first thing he remembered seeing was a broken nose. He knew who it was then.

"Get away from me." He tried to make it sound forceful, but he was still drowsy from the drugs so it came out as a drunken mumble.

"John, I want to help you." Mycroft walked across the room and sat down on a dark green leather armchair. John suddenly became aware that he too was sitting on a seemingly identical armchair. Beside him was a small wooden table and on top of that was a mug of steaming tea. The sandy haired man picked up the mug and cupped his hands around it. He was about to take a sip when he stopped himself. Reluctantly he put the mug back on the table. Mycroft raised an eyebrow. "I can assure you, it's not drugged." John looked back at the tea. "I didn't want it anyway. I never want anything off you." Mycroft sighed and looked at his hands. His voice was low and quiet. "Well, unfortunately John, that's where you're bang out of luck."

It was a while before anyone spoke again. John was determined not to engage in conversation, and Mycroft could think of nothing to say. There was a comforting warmth coming from a fireplace at the side of the room. Finally, Mycroft spoke. "Why did you want to jump?" John's head spun round to look at the man. Mycroft was still looking at his hands awkwardly. The ex-army doctor slowly turned his head to look back at the wall. "What does it matter? I just wanted it to end. Who cares how it's done?" A few more minutes of silence followed. It was John's turn to ask questions now. "Why couldn't you have just let me jump?"

Mycroft didn't answer. Instead, he stood up and walked across the room to a drinks cabinet. He poured out two whiskeys and carried one over to John. The sandy haired man just put it down next to his, now cold, tea. He had no intention of drinking it. Mycroft sat back down and took a sip from his own glass. "You may as well drink that."

John wrinkled his nose up. "I don't drink cheap whisky." Mycroft chuckled.

"I saved you; at least I think I did, out of guilt." John turned his head to look at the man. "It's my fault he did what he did, I've come to realise that now. It's kept me awake for nights just thinking about it. I don't want it to happen to anyone else, especially the person my brother was closest to."

The fire crackled and popped. "I helped Sherlock in the past. I want to help you, now."

John looked annoyed. "I don't need your help."

Mycroft's eyebrows rose. "John, today you tried to throw yourself off a building." John just looked at the floor. "Did Sherlock ever tell you about the time he wanted to end it all?" John shook his head. "Well I suppose he wouldn't have. He was completely out of it by the time I found him. He had taken a lot of drugs, and I mean a lot. I had looked everywhere for him, I eventually had to get in touch with Detective Inspector Lestrade. We found Sherlock in an alley way. I don't think any of us expected him to make it. He woke up a few days later and I vowed then that I would always look out for him. Great job I did there."

John picked up the glass of whiskey and took a sip. It made his throat feel warm and calm. "Why hasn't Greg ever mentioned this?"

Mycroft smiled. "I asked him not to. I assumed he must have mentioned it at some point. Anyway, I looked after Sherlock and eventually got him off the drugs. I want to look after you. I don't want you to end up like Sherlock."

John shook his head. "I'm not your pet."

The two men sat in silence for a few minutes. After a while, Mycroft spoke. "I didn't tell Jim about that. I didn't tell him a few things."

John was still looking at the floor. He didn't want to make eye contact with Mycroft and risk the other man seeing his damp eyes.

"I didn't tell him about the things that were just me and Sherlock, or the things that Sherlock begged me never to tell. I didn't tell Jim about how Sherlock used to get me to read to him when he was three, or how his first word was my name. I didn't tell him that Sherlock still has some self inflicted scars on his stomach, and most importantly, I didn't tell him about the times we used to play pirates when our mother and father were out of the house." There were tears running down Mycroft's face. His voice had gone all shaky so he stopped speaking. "What I'm trying to say is, I know my brother, and he would never, ever want you to do what he did. I'm just here to save you from yourself."

John nodded his head. He had so much hatred for Mycroft, but deep down he knew that he was doing what he thought was best. "Can I go to bed?" John asked.

Mycroft nodded. "Of course, it's the third door to the left."

John left the room and walked along the wide corridor. That night he cried himself to sleep, because while his deceased friend might not want him to hurt, it didn't stop everything from feeling shit.

* * *

**AN: Hope you enjoyed the chapter! Thanks again for all your reviews. :)**


	7. Chapter 7

**Guardian Chapter 7 **

John opened his eyes. He was in a strange bed with white sheets and sunlight was pouring through the curtains. It took him a few moments to realise where he was. When he finally knew, he began to feel like crap again. He did not want to be in Mycroft's house and he didn't really want that man anywhere near him, let alone looking after him. John stayed under the sheets for what felt like an age. Eventually he got bored, and more importantly; he needed to pee.

He pulled his legs over the side of the mattress and they thudded on the floor. He sat like that for a couple of minutes. Not to John's surprise, Mycroft had en suites in his guest bedrooms. The short, sandy-haired man went to the bathroom and returned smelling clean and fresh. When he was back in his room he realised that he didn't have any spare clothes. He had slept in the clothes he had been brought in with the previous night. He eventually found a white fluffy dressing gown in an otherwise empty wardrobe, so he put it on before venturing out into the rest of Mycroft's massive house.

John opened the bedroom door to see a wide corridor with many entrances to other rooms. He could see the other short corridor which led him to the room he was in last night, and another corridor which led to goodness knows where. John decided to go down the unknown corridor in the hope of finding Mycroft, or even better; a way out.

John walked into a surprisingly modern kitchen. It was all shiny and bright from light pouring through large windows. John was about to walk straight through the kitchen into the next room when he saw the note. On the kitchen counter there was a neatly sealed envelope with the words '_Good morning John_' printed on the front in black ink and a clear font. The sandy haired man picked it up. The paper was thick, and looked and felt like it would be expensive. John carefully prised open the envelope and pulled out an equally expensive feeling piece of writing paper. It read "_Dear John, I hope you slept well. I regret to inform you that I can't be with you this morning as something came up at work. Please feel free to read any of my books, or if that's not what you enjoy, feel free to watch a film or TV program. I understand that this isn't exactly enjoyable, but I cannot be away from my office for any length of time right now. Please help yourself to any food or drink you might be interested in consuming. My profuse apologies, Mycroft_."

John felt slightly annoyed. Typical Mycroft, he thought to himself. "A day after I try to jump off a building, he leaves me locked alone in a house with nothing but my own thoughts." He wasn't even that angry that Mycroft was away, he didn't really want to see him anyway, he just really didn't want to be in Mycroft's house. To be fair he didn't want to be in his own flat either. He knew where he wanted to be, but after the events of yesterday he knew Mycroft wasn't going to let him get there very easily.

He made himself a cup of tea. There was nothing else to do, and he was British after all. It took him quite a while to find everything he needed, and when he did he made a mental note that if he ever won the lottery he would not get himself a massive kitchen. He carried the milky tea back to his hopefully temporary room very carefully so that his shaking hand wouldn't spill any onto a wall. When he got there he found a set his clothes on the bed. It took him less than a minute to get over the fact that someone in the house had obviously been watching him. Knowing Mycroft, he had probably been watched while he slept too.

He put on the crisp clean clothes and drank his tea. It had become cold quite quickly and it was pretty disgusting.

John sat in his room. Wandering around in someone else's house felt wrong, especially when that person was Mycroft Holmes. There wasn't much in the room. There was a single bed with white sheets and duvet, and a disgusting olive green scratchy woollen blanket. John hadn't imagined that this was what Mycroft's house was like. Though, thinking about it, John couldn't remember a time where he had imagined Mycroft with a house. He knew he had one, but the tall, powerful man always seemed so occupied with his work that it didn't seem like he could have enough time to spend any at home. Also in the small room was a chair, a tiny wardrobe and a bookcase without any books. There was also a door leading into a squashed en-suite bathroom that had white tiles.

About an hour after going back to his room, John left it again. There was nothing to do in there and he was extremely bored. This time he wandered down the corridor which led back to the room he was in the night before.

The room was much larger than he remembered, but to be fair, John didn't remember that much of what happened that night. He remembered everything being a bit fuzzy and shaky like he couldn't focus on anything, and he also remembered Mycroft telling him something about Sherlock. He couldn't remember exactly what. 'Something about pirates' he thought to himself. Now that his body wasn't full of drugs he could see the room clearly. There were shelves filled with hundreds of books covering nearly the entire wall furthest from the door John was now standing in. The only place where there wasn't books was where there was a large dark oak door with a well used brass handle. The door was slightly ajar.

John walked into the room. He sauntered as casually as he could over to the book shelves. He picked up a book at random and persuaded himself to read part of the first chapter. It wasn't very gripping. It only took a couple of minutes before curiosity got the better of him.

The Ex-Army Doctor crept towards the door. He checked around the room to see if there were security cameras. He couldn't see any, but that wasn't to say there wasn't any. He stood in front of the door for a couple of seconds before he reached out to touch the handle. It was cold but the metal felt so smooth it was almost soft. He pulled the door open carefully, expecting it to creak. He was relived to find that it made no noise at all.

Looking in, John could see hundreds more books. There were books on shelves, books piled up on the floor and books stacked on a desk in the middle of the room. John wasn't going to walk inside, he already felt like a misbehaving school child, but everything changed when he saw two photo frames on the desk next to the small pile of books. He suddenly felt like a ton of bricks had fallen down on him. Without even realising, he had walked across the room to the desk. He picked up the larger photo frame of the two. It was definitely who he thought it was. Looking out from behind the thin glass of the photo frame was a late teen-aged Sherlock Holmes. In the picture, he had his arm around Mycroft's shoulder to give him support. The young dark haired man looked slightly drunk and very happy. A mid-twenties Mycroft was laughing and had a ginger curl flopped down onto his forehead.

John noticed his hands were shaking. He only realised that he had tears streaming down his face when his vision went blurry and he couldn't see the picture any more. Being in Mycroft's house had distracted him slightly. Walking through the rooms, feeling like a naughty school boy, even the scratchy woollen blanket had made him forget how bad he felt. As soon as he remembered, he felt awful that he had forgotten. He put the photo frame back down on the desk. The other photo frame was smaller. It pictured two young boys, aged about five and twelve, sitting in the sun reading.

John felt angry. 'If only you knew what he does' he wanted to tell the young boy in the picture. He wanted to blame Mycroft for making him distracted, but John felt he couldn't blame everything on the man. He didn't want to admit it to himself just yet, but when his mind had been taken off Sherlock, he had felt more normal than he had in years.

**AN: I hope you all enjoyed the chapter! I just finished this one tonight because I've been quite busy. There will be a lot more Mycroft next week and we should see how he's been coping with Sherlock's 'death'. As always, thanks for all your reviews! :)**


	8. Chapter 8

**AN: Hello again! Sorry for not updating last week, I was away in Wales. (At comic con) It was brilliant but it also meant I couldn't update this. :(**

**Guardian chapter 8**

It was the next day when John next saw Mycroft. He woke up after spending a night with the scratchy blanket and got dressed after finding a fresh set of clothes in the undersized wardrobe. John then left the room in the search to find food. The sandy haired man had been eating less and less since Sherlock stepped off the roof. It had just started by skipping a meal, he would be too busy thinking about what could have been, but as his body became used to the lower intake of calories he became less and less hungry. This wasn't to say that he didn't need the food. As a medic, he knew that his eating habits had to stop.

He made his way into the kitchen to find Mycroft sitting at a small table in the corner of the room drinking tea. John tried to ignore him. It didn't work.

"Good morning John!" Beamed Mycroft. He was disgustingly cheerful for that early in the morning. John nodded back to him.

"Did you sleep well?" Mycroft grinned at him. John just nodded again.

"I'm going to be staying home today, things sorted themselves out at work."

Fuck.

* * *

John sat in his room. He had taken his tea and a couple of biscuits in with him so he could avoid Mycroft for as long as possible. Things were getting boring. He hadn't brought a book into the room with him. Thoughts about Sherlock crept into his mind. John remembered the time Sherlock thought he was slipping drugs into John's coffee. He remembered when they first met and everyone assumed they were a couple. He sat for a while thinking these pleasant thoughts, but then other thoughts came to him, not so pleasant thoughts. He remembered Sherlock falling to the ground, his blood all over the pavement. He remembered how angry Sherlock was when Moriarty changed everything. There was no Richard Brook. He told himself that every day. John's mind drifted away from the good memories. All he thought about for that next half hour was wrong. He felt wrong for thinking it. All the blood, the hate and the pain. All the loss and the lies and the stories. That was what circled his mind. He wanted it to stop. He needed it to stop. Oh if only if he could just... but he couldn't. Mycroft wouldn't let him. He needed to get his mind out of that loop.

* * *

John rinsed his mug out in the sink. He had left his room hoping to clear his head. It had worked, a bit. He walked through to what seemed like the living room. To his surprise he found Mycroft sitting in an armchair reading. He had thought the man was in his room.

"Good afternoon, John" said Mycroft with a brief smile. John greeted him in return, but stood by the doorway wondering if he should leave.

"Do sit down John. You can't avoid me forever."

He was probably right. John walked over to a bookshelf and chose a book at random. He then went and sat down in a chair and began to read.

The book was very interesting. He realised as soon as he opened the cover that it was 'A picture of Dorian Gray' by Oscar Wilde. A few hours had passed by the time he stopped reading. John was surprised at how fast the time had gone.

It was Mycroft who spoke first.

"I saw that you went into my office yesterday."

John's blood ran cold. What if Mycroft thought he had seen some kind of secret document? Would he just disappear, never to be seen again? Who knows what Mycroft was capable of! John nodded his head in response.

Mycroft noticed the ex-army doctor looked concerned.

"Don't worry about it. Feel free to go anywhere you want. If I had wanted to keep you out, there would be no possible way you could get in. Trust me."

John half smiled. "I'm going to go back to my room again. Can I take the book?"

Mycroft nodded. "Of course."

And with that, John walked back to his room with a slight limp in his step.

* * *

The sandy-haired man opened his eyes. Confused, he leaned forwards. A book slipped off his chest and landed on the carpeted floor with a thud. 'I must have drifted off while I was reading' John thought to himself. This annoyed him slightly because he had lost his page.

The ex-army doctor swung his right leg over the side of the bed. He tried to will the other to do the same but no matter how hard he tried, he ended up having to lift his left leg over the edge of the mattress. Sleep partly cleared away and he realised his throat was unbelievably dry. Not having a glass of water in his room, he set off through the now gloomy house to the surprisingly modern kitchen.

When he entered the kitchen he could hardly see a thing. All that was in front of him was a dark outline of what he assumed was a work surface. He stepped over to it as quietly as he could. He wasn't sure if Mycroft was home, but if he was, John didn't want to wake him up. As he moved towards the 'What-he-thought-was-a-work-surface', bright lights flickered on. It took him a few moments of blinking before he could see properly again. In the second cupboard he looked in, there were some drinking glasses. He filled one up with tap water, drank it and then re-filled it again. Feeling more awake than he had before, he made his way back to his tiny room.

He was about half way through the long corridor to his room when he heard the noise. John stopped and held his breath thinking the noise might have been coming from him. It continued. John stayed in his spot for a few more moments. It sounded like someone was repeatedly breathing in sharply. After a few more moments, John realised someone was sobbing. It was Mycroft.

**AN: Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed! **

**I've written the next chapter. (I originally wrote it as one long one with this chapter but I decided to split it.)**

***Spoiler for next week's chapter: 'Tears before bedtime.'* **

**Please feel free to let me know what you think! :)**


	9. Chapter 9

******AN: Hello again! Thanks for getting this far into the story. **

***Warning for this chapter: It's a bit sad.* **

* * *

**Guardian Chapter 9**

The ex-army doctor wasn't sure what to do. On one hand he really had something against the crying man, but on the other... Well, he had just lost his brother poor sod.

John tapped his knuckles on the wood of the door softly. The sobbing stopped and he heard movement as someone inside the room moved hurriedly around. A few seconds later the large door opened slightly. The light from inside the room was so dim that John could hardly see the man in front of him.

"Mycroft, are you okay?"

The taller man in the doorway shuffled his feet slightly.

"I'm fine thank you John. I'm sorry if I woke you."

He began to push the heavy door shut. Before he could think about it properly, John's left foot was in between the door and the door frame. This surprised both of them. Less than 15 minutes ago John hadn't been able to move it over the side of his bed.

"No, Mycroft. You're not fine. I should know more than anyone. If you get to question me about how I am, and stop me from doing things I want to do, then I'm going to do the same to you."

Mycroft switched on the light to reveal a stupidly large room. The man's eyes were red and his hair was dishevelled. John also noticed that it was the first time he had ever seen the man without a tie.

"Come in." said the tie-less man.

John limped into the room. There was a large bed with black sheets in the centre of the floor. Everything about the room was extravagant.

'Typical Mycroft.'

The government 'official' sat down at one side of a surprisingly disorganized desk. He beckoned to John to join him but the ex-army doctor chose to stand.

"Tell me what's wrong Mycroft."

The man let out a quiet chuckle. His eyes stared forwards but weren't focussed on anything in particular.

"Well, you know how it is. Work piles up. Sometimes a good cry just clears the head."

Mycroft put a smug smile on his face. John wasn't buying it. He raised one eyebrow and was about to question the man when Mycroft's smile faltered. That was it. The floodgates were open.

Mycroft was a mess. Tears were flowing so freely that the collar of his shirt had become damp. John didn't know what to do. He had wanted the man to suffer exactly how he did himself, but seeing him like that, it didn't feel right. He walked over to Mycroft and rubbed his back, hesitantly at first, but as the man's cries grew louder he wanted to do anything to comfort him.

It was a couple of minutes before the crying man could talk again. He had quietened down somewhat. Through the man's sobs, John could tell that Mycroft was embarrassed. It didn't seem like he showed any of his emotions often. '_The Ice Man_.' Sherlock had once called him.

"I'm so sorry." Those were the words Mycroft said through quiet sobs.

"It's okay; it's not your fault." Words slipped out of John's mouth before he could stop himself. What was he saying? For months he had hated this man. He had blamed everything on him. He had never even questioned whether or not it really was his fault. It just always was in John's mind. It was that moment when the sandy haired man began to wonder. Is Mycroft really to blame?

There wasn't enough time to think about it just then. Mycroft was shaking. He must have been trying to keep his tears as silent as he could, but it wasn't working very well and he was beginning to look more and more out of control. All of a sudden, Mycroft began to take short, rapid breaths. John had seen people react like this in bad situations before. The man was having a panic attack.

"I did it!" Mycroft yelled. "I killed him!"

John went into medic mode strait away. "No you didn't. It wasn't your fault. Now Mycroft, has this ever happened to you before? Do you have any medication for it?"

Mycroft shook his head. By this time there were beads of sweat on his face.

"John, make it stop, please!" He started pleading. "John I need it to stop! I can't cope! Please just let me stop it!"

The ex-army doctor wasn't fully listening; he was concentrating on the man's breathing.

"Just breathe on my count. Can you do that for me?"

Mycroft tried his hardest to do what John was saying, but he just couldn't.

"John, I'm sorry."

John shook his head.

"I told you. It's not your fault."

It was Mycroft's turn to shake his head now.

"I didn't mean that this time."

John tried to cool the other man down.

"What do you mean then?"

He grabbed a few of the things off the desk in order to make something that would resemble a fan. That was when he found out what the papers were. Every single scrap of paper on that desk was something to do with Sherlock's life. There were copies of birth certificates, photographs of the deceased man at various stages of his short life, what looked like letters that the boys had written to each other while Mycroft was at boarding school and five year old Sherlock's diary.

"I stopped you from jumping."

Mycroft was still quite breathless, but he wasn't shaking as much as he was before. It took John a moment to realise what the man had said.

"What do you mean?" He asked. He was still transfixed on the papers in front of him, but he had started fanning Mycroft.

"If I had known how much you had wanted it, how you had needed it, I never would have stopped you."

John stopped fanning Mycroft with the photographs. He couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"I don't want you to hate me for stopping you. I don't want you to feel like Sherlock did."

Mycroft began to cry harder. If he kept going like that, he would throw up.

John had countless emotions raging through him. Sorrow, anger, disgust, that was only the beginning. He managed to force some words out.

"Sherlock doesn't hate you, didn't hate you, I mean. You annoyed him but that was all." There were tears in his eyes now, but he knew he had to calm Mycroft.

The taller man shook his head and tried to breathe normally.

"When he first tried to... you know, he really wanted to go. I couldn't understand at the time. I just wouldn't let it happen. He hated me for it, wouldn't talk to me for years. Then you turned up out of the blue and he didn't want to go anymore. He was finally happy after all those years. I understand now, and I want it all to stop."

John clenched and unclenched his fists. His head was shaking and he was unwillingly letting tears run down his face.

"That's not fair."

It took Mycroft a few seconds to register those words. He felt pathetic for the way he was crying. He hated everything about himself. What on earth was John saying?

"You, you wouldn't let me jump. Why the fuck would I let you have the release that I need?"

Mycroft looked at him in shock.

"Please, John."

John ignored his pleas. Instead, he walked to a door at the other side of the room. It opened to reveal an over-sized bathroom. The ex-army doctor walked to the cabinet above the sink and opened it. He then proceeded to take out every single bottle of pills. There were so many bottles that he had to put them in his pockets to carry them. He noted the bottle of antidepressants and put them in his inside pocket for safe keeping.

Next, he took out the razors. He then looked around the bathroom for any other sharp implements. He found a pair of nail scissors and even thought about removing a mirror. He could still hear Mycroft's cries from the other room.

John walked back into the other man's room and then out the door into the corridor. He walked as quickly as he could back to his own tiny room. When he got there, he headed straight for the nearly empty wardrobe. All the pills, razors and scissors aside from the antidepressants were dumped inside. Before he closed the door a thought popped into his head.

'You could do it now. You've got everything you need.'

He slammed the door shut.

When he got back to Mycroft's room he found the man in the same spot that he had left him in. The man looked terrified.

"You best get some sleep."

Mycroft shook his head like a stubborn child.

"Come on, doctor's orders."

After about a minute of willing himself to stand, Mycroft did so. He was still wearing a shirt and trousers, but he slipped beneath the sheets anyway. John sat down in the desk chair that the tall man had occupied only moments prior.

"I'm going to stay here tonight. God knows what you've got hidden away in here. I'm not letting you die."

Mycroft tried to argue but John gave him a look which scared him away from doing so. The room was silent until Mycroft spoke.

"I need my sleeping pill."

John rolled his eyes. "I'll be back in a moment."

The sandy-haired man stood up and left the room. He walked as quickly as he could to his own room; he even jogged for a few moments. When he got to the wardrobe he opened one of the doors and pulled out all the pill bottles. He looked at the labels on all of them until he found one labelled 'Eszopiclone' John then piled the other bottles back into the tiny wardrobe and closed the door. He walked back to Mycroft's room as quickly as he could, but when he got there he was shocked at what he saw.

Mycroft was standing next to his bed. There was an empty briefcase on his bed and in his hand was a handgun. John's brain tried to think clearly. He needed something to say, and quickly. Mycroft shook his head. Tears were flooding down his face. He closed his red eyes and raised the gun to his temple.

"STOP!"

John's cry made the tall man's eyes snap open. The sandy-haired man looked terrified.

"Killing yourself would kill two people! You're the only person right now who is stopping me from ending everything!"

Mycroft's lip trembled and he let out a cry. The gun stayed pressed to his head.

"Mycroft, stop all this. Just put the gun down. Just for tonight. Just stay one more night."

The Government 'Official' shook his head slightly. He closed his eyes again. He looked so peaceful.

"Please."

Red eyes snapped open again. Mycroft's shaking hands lowered the gun. John's teary face put on an encouraging smile. Mycroft put the gun back into the briefcase. His legs became wobbly and he fell to his knees. This time when he cried he made no noise at all. He looked like a fish choking on air. John felt so sorry for him.

"Thank you"

John walked to the bed and closed the briefcase. He then took it to the desk and put it into a draw on top of some papers. He walked over to Mycroft. The man looked like he was already dead. John helped him into bed and pulled the covers over him. There were still tears rolling down Mycroft's cheeks, but he wasn't making a sound. His eyes were looking lifelessly behind John. The ex-army doctor got the bottle of sleeping pills out of his pocket and took one out. Mycroft opened his mouth slightly and John dropped it in.

It was at least five minutes before anyone said anything. John was sitting in the desk chair thinking over what had just happened. He had thought Mycroft was asleep until he spoke.

"Please don't tell anyone about this."

"I promise I won't, Mycroft."

* * *

**AN: Well I hope you enjoyed this chapter! I lied a bit, I hadn't finished writing it. Well, I had, but then I changed it. It was just going to be that Mycroft was a bit sad but then he spoke to John and felt better... Or something along those lines! **

**Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed and I should hopefully have the next chapter up next week! (I just need to write it!)**

**Please let me know what you think of the chapter :)**


	10. Chapter 10

**Guardian chapter 10**

Mycroft had acted the next morning like it had never happened. John had woken to find the man already dressed in a fresh suit, asking for his antidepressants. John had given him one, and Mycroft then proceeded to walk out of the front door. John protested, but the tall man made an excuse about the Government falling if he didn't go into work. John had to let him go. All day the ex-army doctor worried. He was sure Mycroft would never come back. He actually thought someone had broken into the house when he heard movement in the kitchen, but when he went to check he found Mycroft eating an apple turnover. The man smiled at him.

"I bought them on the way back from work. There's one for you in the box by the fridge."

John looked over to the tall black fridge. Mycroft was telling the truth, there was indeed a small pastry sized box sitting there.

John looked back at Mycroft in bewilderment. What on earth was happening? It were as if the events of last night had never taken place. With tears in his eyes, the ex-army doctor spoke.

"I thought you would be dead before you came back today."

The tall thin man looked up in apparent surprise.

"Why? I hardly ever get any assassination attempts and my bodyguards..."

John cut him off abruptly.

"You know what I mean!" He yelled. Anger was written all over his face. He picked up the pastry box and threw it at Mycroft.

"I thought you were dead! You were going to kill yourself! Do you really think that an apple turnover will magically fix everything?"

Mycroft didn't look bothered, in fact, he didn't even look like he could hear John. He put the last of his turnover into his mouth and stood up.

"I have to go and read through some papers. I'd let you come with me but it's top secret so you can't be in the room when I get them out." He began to walk swiftly away. John tried to follow as quickly as he could, but his 'injured' leg made it difficult. As Mycroft made his way through the corridor he heard John calling after him.

"Don't you dare do that to me again, Mycroft Holmes!"

The tall man didn't turn back.

* * *

Four weeks had passed since that day. Neither Mycroft nor John had talked about it again with anyone. John had tried to bring it up on several occasions but Mycroft had shot him down with a look that could silence anyone.

Mycroft had seen how small the ex-army doctor's room was, so he had moved him to a large room at the other side of the house. One morning John woke up to find something on his bedside cabinet. It took him a few moments to get his eyes to adjust to the bright morning light. When he could finally see properly, he read it.

_"Dear John,_

_I really hope you don't mind but I have taken the liberty of organizing a job interview for you. I have attached details on a separate sheet of paper and I asked someone to bring you a suit. It should be in your wardrobe right now. If you do not want to go to the interview please let me know and I will cancel it. Mycroft."_

John looked at the other sheet of paper. The interview was in four days at a health centre on the edge of London. John found himself surprisingly quite excited. He had been out of the house since the incident with Mycroft a few weeks back, but because all the food was delivered and he didn't really speak to Greg much any more, there was never really a reason. Now he would be going out more often, and that had to be better than doing nothing. Another reason he was excited was the money. John had been trying to give Mycroft what little money he had in payment of letting him stay in his house. Of course Mycroft had refused. He made the excuse that he had all the money he needed, and if he didn't he would just give himself a pay rise. This meant that John now had a small amount saved up. If he were to get a job he could make more money and finally move out of Mycroft's house. This made him happier than anything, he hated to be a burden. There was finally a light at the end of the tunnel.

* * *

**AN: Sorry for the shortness of this chapter. I've got an English exam tomorrow so I had to revise.**

**There was a few people noticing the problem with the paragraphs and the spacing in the earlier chapters. Thank you for pointing that out. I think I've managed to fix all of it, but if not please let me know.**

**I hope you're enjoying the story so far :)**


	11. Chapter 11

**Guardian Chapter 11**

Four days passed in the blink of an eye. John had thought through what he was going to say at nearly every waking moment. He had only seen Mycroft about three times since he read the letter, but every time he had, he had thanked him profusely. Mycroft had just smiled and told him that it was no trouble at all. The tall red haired man had seemed much happier since John had cheered up. John assumed happiness was contagious.

* * *

Before he knew it, John was waiting outside an interview room. He was the only one sitting in the blue fuzzy seats, but a selection of doctors and nurses in medical uniform hurried busily past him now and again. Even after all the interviews John had been to, he could still feel worry building up inside of him. He exhaled slowly in an attempt to be rid of it. Finally, a blond woman in a well fitted suit appeared from around a door frame.

John had never felt like he was good in interviews. He could never work out how to balance out smiling so he didn't look unfriendly, yet at the same didn't look like a psychopath.

The woman sitting in front of him smiled reassuringly. She told him how highly he had been spoken of.

'Oh, Mycroft!' thought John with a smile. John was asked questions like "What could you bring to the job?" and "How are you at dealing with stressful situations?" The ex-army doctor answered as truthfully as he could, and a couple of questions later the blond woman stood up, thanked him for his time and told him they'd be in touch.

For the next two days, John waited. He began to believe that he would never get the job. After a day, he was sure of it. All of that changed when the letter arrived.

* * *

John woke to find a brown envelope on his bedside table. He initially thought it was another note from Mycroft as he was sure it was far too early for post to arrive. To his surprise it was from the health centre. As he read further into the letter, his surprise turned to delight. He had been given the job. Even after all the time he had spent skulking around Mycroft's house, he had still been given it. He laughed in disbelief. John re-read the letter to make sure his eyes weren't playing tricks on him. He had got the job...

The next time John saw Mycroft, he nearly cried he was so thankful. Mycroft just said his usual "It was no trouble." John doubted that the man knew how much the job meant to him. After he had saved up enough money, he could finally live his life without being a burden to anyone. He would finally be free.

* * *

Two weeks into the job and John was loving it. He was just seeing patients with coughs and colds right now, maybe the occasional back ache but it was much more enjoyable than spending all his time at Mycroft's house.

* * *

**AN: Hello again! I'm really sorry for not posting last week. Exams and such are getting in the way :( That will probably be the reason for if I only post every two weeks, but we'll see how it goes. :)**

**Thanks for reading**


	12. Chapter 12

**Guardian Chapter 12**

It was nearly a year later when John first mentioned moving out to Mycroft. There had been no repeat of the incident with Mycroft and the gun, but John hadn't wanted to stir up the peace that had fallen over them both. He had only given the pills back to the man about three months before. He believed he could trust Mycroft, he just felt morally obligated to look after him. If that meant handing out pills every morning before they both went to work, then so be it.

* * *

"Mycroft, can I talk to you?"

The tall, red-haired man was sitting in the large expensive looking kitchen reading a newspaper. It had the words "DID UFO HIT JET?" plastered on the front page in capital letters. John raised an eyebrow.

"I thought you said you didn't read that crap?"

Mycroft put the newspaper down quickly. He looked slightly embarrassed.

"I don't." He tried to change the subject quickly. "Anyway, I don't think you came in here to criticize my reading habits. What do you want to talk about?"

John pulled a chair out from under the table and sat facing Mycroft. He had been thinking over how to have this conversation for quite a while, but now he was actually there he couldn't find the words.

"I... I've been living here for a while now..."

Mycroft nodded.

"You have... John, where is this going? Because if it's some kind of long-awaited marriage proposal then I'm sorry but I'm not quite ready for that kind of commitment."

John chuckled.

"Don't worry Mycroft; I'm not going to go down on one knee!"

"I don't think your leg could take it..."

John sat open mouthed in mock shock. Mycroft smiled.

"Sorry John, continue."

John swallowed.

"I think that it's time to… for me to move out. I've been looking at cheap flats. There's one I could get right now for a reasonable price, and I need to move on. I can't stay here forever."

John sat awaiting Mycroft's response. The tall man looked as if he was going to argue. He didn't.

"If that's what you think is best. Don't worry yourself over the price of the flat. I'll pay for it. Find somewhere nice."

John smiled but shook his head.

"I don't want you to do that. I've saved up. I want this flat to be mine. I'll finally be independent again, instead of having to rely on you all the time. But, thank you anyway."

John stood up.

"I have to go, I said I'd meet Greg in ten minutes and it takes about fifteen minutes to get there."

He began to rush off towards the door. As he opened it, Mycroft spoke.

"Are you sure you'll be okay, on your own I mean."

John laughed.

"I'll be fine, Mycroft! I'm not a little kid!"

The Government 'Official' smiled.

"Anyway, it's the other way round. I'm looking after you!"

The sandy-haired man laughed again, closed the door and jogged away.

Mycroft looked down into his tea-cup.

"That's not quite true."

* * *

**AN: Long time no fic! *sorry***


	13. Chapter 13

**Guardian Chapter 13**

John looked at the space around him. Brown boxes held what little of his life he had left. The flat he was standing in, his new home, was very like the last he had owned, the flat before Mycroft. However, even through all the similarities, John preferred this place. Instead of filling him with hatred and anxieties like the previous flat, it made him feel proud, and even hopeful. The doctor couldn't tell why this was, but he assumed it was something to do with his new job.

A tall red-haired man walked through an open door leading to a shared landing, carrying one last brown cardboard box.

"Don't you have people to do that for you?" asked John with a grin.

Mycroft put the box next to the legs of a small table.

"Yes. I told them to take the day off."

John's smile faded slightly. He could never tell whether the tall man in front of him was joking or not.

"Have you got all the groceries you need?" asked Mycroft, unaware of John's slight confusion. "I have a car waiting outside. I could give you a lift to the shop?"

John smiled but shook his head.

"Thanks Mycroft, but no. The shop's only down the road and I'd like to go there myself. It might make this place seem more like home. The Estate I mean, not the flat."

Mycroft nodded.

"If you're sure."

He looked around, taking everything in.

"Is there anything else you need help with? Only I've got a meeting with the Chancellor in a couple of hours and there are things I have to prepare"

John knew better than to ask.

"No, I think that's everything thanks"

Mycroft smiled and began to walk back towards the open door.

"Good. Well, I'll be off then. I'll see you soon."

The tall red-haired man turned to leave.

"Really, Mycroft. Thanks."

Mycroft looked back at John and smiled.

"You too."

He closed the door behind him.

* * *

It took John half an hour to find and dispose of two hidden cameras. One by the TV in the living room, the other on top of a kitchen cupboard.

* * *

**AN: I know it's not Sunday, but I'm uploading anyway because otherwise it would never get done. I'm a bit busy right now, but I promise I won't give up on this story. I'm just taking longer than I said to write and upload the chapters. **

**Hope you're still enjoying, please tell me what you think! :)**


	14. Chapter 14

**Guardian Chapter 14**

John met Mary about a month after he had moved into his new flat. John was on his way home from work when he saw her at the side of the road with a broken down car. She had short blond hair and gorgeous eyes. He had helped her get the car started again, and before she left he tried his chances and asked her out for a drink. He was surprised when she agreed.

* * *

Three nights later they were both sitting in a pub near John's flat with a pint each. Mary had been telling him about how she worked at a local nursery school, and how she had told herself that she would go for a run every morning this year (though it hadn't turned out as planned), when the dreaded question arose.

"So John, tell me about yourself."

The doctor's mind raced. Should he tell her about Sherlock? About the crime solving? Surely a first date was too soon to talk about his time with Mycroft.

He smiled.

"There's not much to tell really."

Mary smiled slightly.

"I don't believe that for a second. What did you do before you were working at the health centre?"

"Well in my younger years I was an army doctor. I was posted in Afghanistan for a while."

Mary raised her eyebrows. Her smile widened.

"See, I knew there was something more to you. Why did you leave?"

"I had to. Got shot."

The pretty blond woman's expression changed immediately to a look of sorrow.

"That sounds awful. Is that when you started working at the health centre?"

John's mind raced again. Should he tell her? Not yet.

"More or less."

That was when John's mobile started ringing. He looked at the screen and saw it was Mycroft calling. It felt like a knot had tightened in his stomach. Mycroft never called him; he would usually just send a car to 'kidnap' him. He apologised to Mary and stood up from the table. He answered the phone as he walked towards the exit.

"Hello" he breathed.

He expected Mycroft to be crying. John prepared himself for another night like the one where he had found Mycroft with the gun. The voice at the other end of the line sounded urgent.

"John, are you okay?"

The sandy-haired doctor had a look of confusion on his face.

"Yes. Of course I am. Why wouldn't I be?"

There was a sigh of relief from the other end of the call. Mycroft didn't reply.

"What about you. Are you okay?" said John, still confused.

There was a long pause.

"Mycroft?"

"Yes, sorry. I'm fine."

John thought of something to say. He had so many questions, but in the end he only managed to choke out one word.

"Good."

There was another long pause as John thought of something else to say.

"Is there anyth-"

"I'm sorry about this, John."

There was a click and the other phone hung up. John's hands stopped shaking. He hung up the phone. With a sudden sense of urgency, he rushed back into the pub to where Mary was sitting.

"Mary, I've got to go. I'm so sorry. I'll explain everything later."

Mary looked worried and stood up.

"Do you want me to come with you? I could-"

"Sorry, I have to go on my own." He cut across her.

John ran out the door leaving the pretty blonde woman standing alone in the middle of a pub. When he was in a Taxi, John stopped and thought. That was one more girl he had most likely lost because of a Holmes brother.

* * *

The black cab pulled up outside Mycroft's enormous mansion. John thrust some notes into the driver's hand without counting them and shot out the back door. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a key he still had from living there. He rushed through an over-sized porch, a short hallway and the modern kitchen until he reached a thin corridor. He slowed his pace. Mycroft's bedroom door was slightly ahead of him, just to his right. He walked up to it slowly. He stood outside for a couple of seconds and held his breath. There was no noise coming from inside. John prayed that he wasn't too late. After he had prepared himself, he turned the door-knob, unaware of what he would find.

The sight that met him was nothing he'd been expecting.

Mycroft was sitting in his bed wearing green silk pyjamas, looking slightly surprised. He had his laptop balanced on his lap, and in his hand was what looked like a mug of hot chocolate.

"What are you doing there?" asked John, almost breathlessly.

Mycroft raised an eyebrow. He paused before answering, as if to make a point.

"This is my bedroom, John."

There was another pause until Mycroft spoke again.

"What are you doing here?"

John stood open mouthed in confusion. Mycroft took this as a chance to take a sip of steaming hot chocolate.

"I thought you were-" "You were going to-" John stuttered.

Mycroft furrowed his brow.

"I thought you were going to try and kill yourself again."

For a moment, The Government 'Official' looked ever so slightly vulnerable, but his expression changed to one of amusement so quickly that John barely registered it.

"You sound disappointed." laughed the tall red-haired man.

All of a sudden, John felt a throbbing pain return to his knee. He felt so stupid.

"What was all that about with the phone call?"

Mycroft looked suddenly understanding.

"Oh, so that's what you thought I was talking about…" he trailed off. "Sorry. I didn't mean that."

John was still standing by the open bedroom door. Realising he was letting in a draught; he closed it and walked over to Mycroft's desk in the middle of the room. He pulled out the chair he had sat on the night he had found Mycroft with the gun and sat down.

"Talk." he ordered.

* * *

**AN: Thanks for continuing to read after the long wait!**

**Please let me know what you think :)**


	15. Chapter 15

**Guardian Chapter 15**

The doctor's demeanour was so intimidating that Mycroft found himself gathering the words together to form an explanation right away.

"I… You…"

John gave him a look that told him to spit it out.

"You weren't at home." The tall red haired man finally managed to say.

"What does that matt-" John started to say. He quickly changed his question. "How did you know? I took down all the cameras in my flat."

The corner of Mycroft's mouth curled into a small smile.

"You took down my decoy cameras, yes."

John shook his head in disbelief and returned to his initial question.

"Why does 'me going out' matter? I've gone out before. I'm a grown man, Mycroft. I am allowed to do these things."

Mycroft looked slightly embarrassed. His mug was still in hand and he swirled the remaining liquid around the bottom of the cup.

"I didn't know where you were. I called Lestrade, he hadn't heard from you. I checked the security footage from outside your flat. You'd left in reasonably high spirits, but then again, you did last time."

"What do you mean, last time?" interrupted John.

"There were a few security cameras down at the end of your road and I lost you. I couldn't trace you after that."

John was looking confused from the chair by the desk.

"Eventually, I checked the CCTV footage from St. Bart's hospital."

John began to understand why Mycroft had called.

"When I couldn't find you, I called you."

John nodded his head, but he couldn't quite understand why Mycroft was as worried as he was. The two men sat in silence for a while.

After a few minutes had passed, Mycroft drained his hot chocolate and got out of bed. He walked to his wardrobe and pulled out a silk dressing gown which matched the green of his pyjamas. The man, tall as he was, looked a lot smaller and much more vulnerable when he wasn't wearing a suit. John noticed it was strange seeing Mycroft in casual clothes, like seeing a teacher out of school.

It was Mycroft who broke the silence.

"Well it looks like I'm not getting to sleep any time soon. Would you like a cup of tea, John?"

The sandy-haired man absently shook his head.

"All right then" said Mycroft "I'll be back in a minute."

But before he could leave the room John had thought of the right question to ask.

"Why were you so worried? I've been out before. The cameras at the end of my street haven't been fixed for the whole time I've been living there."

Mycroft looked slightly sad, but after a couple of moments he let out a chuckle.

"You don't realise do you? I thought you would have remembered, not that it matters now anyway."

"Realise what?" questioned John. "What doesn't matter?"

Mycroft managed a false smile onto his face.

"I thought you of all people would remember, John."

John gave him another questioning look.

"It's three years today since he jumped."

The doctor felt like a fistful of realisation had just hit him in the gut. How could he forget something like that? Waves of guilt washed over him. He felt like he had not only forgotten the date, but he had forgotten Sherlock. How was it possible that he had forgotten the date that had changed his life? The date that had ended the life of his friend, and had nearly resulted in the ending of his own?

Mary.

John had been so looking forward to meeting her at the pub. It was his first date since the fall.

In the moments that followed Mycroft's words, John's thoughts ticked away at incredible speeds.

'It was all Mary's fault. How could she make him forget?'

'No! Making him forget was a great thing! You can't dwell on the past forever!'

'It wasn't Mary's fault, it was all his own!'

It was Mycroft that finally made his thoughts clear.

"Are you sure you don't want that tea?"

This time John accepted.

* * *

They sat at a table in the kitchen and sipped at the warm drink. John was still feeling terrible at forgetting the anniversary of his best friend's death. Mycroft seemed to be finding it almost amusing.

"So where were you then?" asked Mycroft, cutting through the silence.

John was so lost in thought that it took him a few moments to answer.

"I was at the pub. I… I was with a girl."

Mycroft raised an eyebrow. "No wonder you forgot then! I found it difficult to remember things when I was in a relationship. That couldn't be allowed with my job of course. I had to end it. I sometimes wonder if I made the right choice. He was the nicest man I had ever met."

For a moment, John thought he saw a hint of sadness in the man's eyes, but it could have just been the dim light from the kitchen bulbs. The sandy-haired man didn't know Mycroft was gay. He had had his suspicions of course, but the Government 'Official' was a very private person. Somehow, it didn't seem to matter.

"We're not in a relationship." said John after a while. "It was our first date. I only met her three days ago."

Mycroft smiled.

"Forgive me. You always do seem to move quickly in a romantic relationship. Look at you and Sherlock for instance."

John laughed at this. It had been years since anyone had suggested that the two men had been in a relationship.

There was another long pause as both men thought about the past and drank their tea.

"Go back to her." said Mycroft eventually.

John thought about it.

"She'll be gone now. She was out of my league anyway. Gorgeous… and funny."

Mycroft shook his head.

"Call her. Apologise. Apologise from me. Make up some god awful excuse. Do whatever; just don't let her get away. You need someone John. If she's as lovely as you make out, then don't let her go. Call her."

John made up his mind very quickly. He finished his tea and stood up.

"See you later Mycroft." He said as he walked towards the door.

Mycroft nodded farewell.

As John pulled the door closed, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and searched for the letter 'M' in his contacts.

* * *

**AN: Thanks for all your lovely reviews. Sorry again that I didn't post a chapter last week. I wasn't very well.**

**Please keep letting me know what you think. Thanks for reading! :)**


	16. Chapter 16

**Guardian Chapter 16**

**-Present time-**

"So that's it." concluded John. "Mycroft saved me. I'm not sure he's even aware how much he helped me, but I wouldn't be here without him."

Sherlock had been listening intently from the other side of the small living room. John had told him everything. Well, almost everything. John had promised Mycroft that he would never tell anyone about the night with the gun, and he was going to keep his promise.

The tall, dark haired man looked like he would be the next person fainting. His face was riddled with guilt and he was fidgeting with the handle of his empty tea cup.

For a while the flat was almost silent, the only noises coming from the street outside. Sherlock was the one who interrupted the pause.

"I am sorry, John. Please forgive me."

John shook his head, and for a moment Sherlock thought the man was going to laugh. He didn't.

"Don't you dare give me that bullshit apology, Sherlock Holmes"

The reply wasn't shouted, instead it was eerily quiet and threateningly angry.

"You used that apology on Molly years ago. You weren't sorry. You're never sorry."

Sherlock looked hurt. He thought about telling John that he had been sincere towards Molly, but the doctor's anger warned him not to.

There was another long pause as both the men's brains buzzed, trying to process a backlog of new information. Sherlock couldn't get over how much he had meant to John. 'He nearly killed himself' was on repeat in his mind.

John's mind however was all over the place. His best friend was alive… but… but Sherlock Holmes was not his best friend. Not anymore. He didn't even know if he liked this man anymore. Why should he, after all he put him through?

"Are you and Mary still…" Sherlock trailed off.

"Like you care" whispered John bitterly.

Sherlock knew he had a point. He had never shown much interest in any of John's girlfriends. He had rarely even bothered to learn their names.

"Yes actually. Surprising isn't it? That someone like her would want to go out with someone as pathetic as me!" John's voice was beginning to raise.

"I was actually thinking about asking her to move in with me. Forward, I know, we've only known each other for a few months, but why not? I better tell her it's over now that you're back. You'll only go and ruin it for me like you used to!"

Sherlock was beginning to look smaller, younger. John noticed that the man was looking much more vulnerable than he did three years ago. He felt momentarily apologetic for shouting. He didn't mean it, he was just so angry.

All of a sudden a wave of emotions passed over the short sandy-haired man. Before he could stop himself he had tears gushing over his cheeks. If he hadn't have been sitting down he would have sunk to his knees. He tried desperately to make himself stop crying. Sherlock was scared. He had never seen John cry before. He didn't know what to do. John felt embarrassed. He didn't cry, he never cried, so why could he not stop himself now? His head was aching from where he had hit it and the room was blurry with tears.

Sherlock walked timidly to the sofa and sat down next to his friend. John tried to push him away, but the tall dark haired man pulled him into a comforting hug. After a few moments John stopped trying to resist and let his head rest on Sherlock's shoulder as it became damp with tears. It was nearly half an hour before either of them spoke again.

"Are you okay now?" asked Sherlock quietly.

John thought it was a stupid question, but agreed anyway.

"Good." said Sherlock more cheerfully. "First thing tomorrow I'll go and see Mrs Hudson. Ask about getting the flat back. I've been looking forward to seeing-"

"No." John cut across him.

Sherlock hesitated for a moment. "What do you mean?"

"You can go and get the flat back, but you'll be staying there alone. I'm not moving back in with you. I'm staying here. I want to start a life with Mary. I'm not ready to forgive you yet."

Sherlock sat there for a moment, taken aback.

"John, it'll be just like before. We could solve crimes. You could re-start your blog. I'll get everything sorted with Detective Inspector Lest-"

"No you won't." snapped John. "And you know why?"

Sherlock looked confused.

"There is no Detective inspector Lestrade, not anymore. Your little trick cost him his job, and his marriage. So don't you think that you can just swan back in here and everything will be okay, because it isn't, Sherlock!"

The doctor had pushed Sherlock away now. Sherlock momentarily assumed a blank face, as he always did when he didn't want to show he was hurt by something, but even he couldn't keep it up. The mouth curled downwards. Tears sprung to the eyes and he fought to hold them back.

"John what I did… It was necessary."

John gave him a hateful look. One he had only seen the man use once before… before the fall. He had used it when faced with James Moriarty for the last time.

"There were three gunmen with their guns trained on the people who meant the most to me. One on Mrs Hudson, one on Lestrade, and one on you. I couldn't let them pull the triggers. I had to come up with a plan."

John looked disgusted.

"The people who meant the most to you? What about your brother? Does he mean anything to you?"

"Of course he does! He's my brother, but we haven't exactly been close since… Well since he was a teenager! Anyway, I knew he'd be fine! He always is! With all that goes on in his schedule I doubt he has time to think about me!"

Sherlock was finding the conversation about Mycroft almost amusing, but John looked hateful.

"You knew he'd be fine?" whispered John, anger rising in his voice. "He wasn't fine, Sherlock. He was far, far from fine."

John had stood up now, his hands clenched into fists. Sherlock was beginning to feel scared.

"Look, John, let me explain everything." he began, but John wouldn't let him utter another word.

"Don't you dare speak another word until your brother gets here, Sherlock Holmes, or you're going to wish you had actually died."

* * *

Mycroft arrived earlier than expected. John wondered why he was surprised. The man had probably made the traffic clear, after all.

There were two knocks at the door. John stood up to answer, giving Sherlock a warning look as he did. When he pulled open the door he found a tall, smartly dressed red haired man. Mycroft had his usual emotionless business-like face on. Before John could say anything to him, he had strode through the door into the small room. As he faced Sherlock, his emotionless expression failed him, but only for a moment. Sherlock stood up as he entered the room, and they stood face to face looking into each other's eyes as if communicating through thought. The whole flat was silent. For a moment, John thought Mycroft would hit his brother. What did happen, however, was something that hadn't even crossed his mind.

"Well thanks for that." said Sherlock, suddenly light hearted.

Mycroft nodded. "At least you won't have to do the same for me one day. I don't even have any plants you could water."

"Well you could have at least sent more money. I've been living off toast and noodles for the last year and a half! I had to wash my hair with fairy liquid!"

"I asked if you wanted to come and stay for a while!"

"What, and have John bump into me while he goes to fetch his morning cup of tea?"

"There was always the attic!"

"You know you would never let me up there! Who knows what kind of secrets I'd find hidden in those boxes?"

"You know, I don't know why I bothered! If I had known you were going to be this childish when you came back I would have sent you away to stay with Mummy. Then she could have looked after you!"

John stood opened mouthed by the equally open door.

"What the hell is going on?!" he shouted.

The Holmes brothers stopped arguing and turned to face him. Sherlock looked amused, but Mycroft looked like a child caught stealing sweets.

"John…" began Mycroft. "I… Sherlock…"

His younger brother cut across him.

"I had to get Mycroft to help me. I was running out of money. He's been helping me-"

That's all he managed to get out. John's fist hit him on the jaw with a crack. John raised his fist again, ready to punch the tall man in front of him.

"I can't believe you, Mycroft Holmes!" John yelled. "You… You were going to kill yourself! You were only pretending? After all this time?"

Mycroft shook his head. His shields were down. John could see emotions running over his face. Sherlock stopped rubbing his jaw and looked at his brother. Mycroft held out his hands in a plea to make John listen.

"I didn't know at that point. I got the phone call a week after… After the night with the gun."

John's face showed only anger, yet there were still tears trickling down his face.

"I wished I could have told you. I really did. Sherlock told me I couldn't tell. He said you were still in danger. The best I could do was get you a job."

John was shaking his head in anger. He hated every word that was spilling out of the man's mouth. He raised his fist to punch the man, then stopped. He looked at the man's broken nose from when he had last been punched by John. A wave of sympathy swept over him.

_'The man thought he had lost his brother, yet after everything, he looked after me. He stopped me from jumping.'_

John pulled Mycroft into a hug. The Government 'Official' looked surprised. He had expected a punch in the face. Sherlock went back to rubbing his jaw, more sulkily this time as he had received a punch and his older brother had been given a hug.

When John pulled back he smiled slightly. His voice was quiet and croaked.

"Thank you, Mycroft."

* * *

**AN: Well, that's it! Thank you so much for reading. I hope you enjoyed it. All your reviews have meant so much to me. Thank you all very much. If you have anything to say about the story, please leave a review or send an ask to Thanks again for reading, I hope you've found it worth your time!**


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